Taming the Last Acosta. Susan Stephens
assailed his senses. The scenery was incredible, the wildlife exotic. Her pictures of the Criolla ponies were extraordinary. She had captured some amusing shots of the wedding guests, but nothing cruel, though she had caught out some of the most pompous in less than flattering moments. She’d taken a lot of pictures of the staff too, and it was those shots that really told a story. Perhaps because more expression could be shown on faces that hadn’t been stitched into place, he reflected dryly as Romy continued to sort and select her images.
She’d made him smile. Another first, he mused as she turned to him.
‘Well?’ she said. ‘Do you like what you see?’
‘I like them,’ he confirmed. ‘Show me what else you’ve got.’
‘There’s about a thousand more.’
‘I’m in no hurry.’ For maybe the first time in his life.
‘Why don’t you pull up a chair?’ she suggested. ‘Just let me know if there any images you don’t feel are suitable for the charity.’
‘So I’m your editor now?’ he remarked, with some amusement after her earlier comment about censorship.
‘No,’ she said mildly. ‘You’re a client I want to please.’
He inclined his head in acknowledgement of this. He could think of a million ways she could please him. When she turned back to her work he thought the nape of her neck extremely vulnerable and appealing, just for starters. He considered dropping a kiss on the peachy flesh, and then decided no. Once he’d tasted her…
‘What do you think of these?’ she said, distracting him.
‘Grace is very beautiful,’ he said as he stared at Romy’s shots of the bride. He could see that his new sister-in-law was exquisite, like some beautifully fashioned piece of china. But did Grace move him? Did she make his blood race? He admired Grace as he might admire some priceless objet d’art, but it was Romy who heated his blood.
‘She is beautiful, isn’t she?’ Romy agreed, with a warmth in her voice he had never noticed before. She certainly didn’t use that voice when she spoke to him.
And why should he care?
Because for the first time in his life he found himself missing the attentions of a woman, and perhaps because he was still stung, after Romy’s enthusiastic response to their lovemaking, that she wasn’t telling him how she thrilled and throbbed, and all the other things his partners were usually at such pains to tell him. Had Romy Winner simply feasted on him and moved on? If she had, it would be the first time any woman had turned the tables on him.
‘This is the sort of shot my editor loves,’ she said as she brought a picture of him up on the screen.
‘Why is that?’
‘Because you’re so elusive,’ she explained. ‘You’re hardly ever photographed. I’ll make a lot from this,’ she added with a pleased note in her voice.
Was he nothing but a commodity?
‘Though what I’d like to do,’ she explained, ‘is give it to the charity. So, much as I’d like to make some money out of you, you can have this one gratis.’
As she turned to him he felt like laughing. She was so honest, he felt… uncomfortable. ‘Thank you,’ he said with a guarded expression. ‘If you’ve just taken a couple of shots of me you can keep the rest. ‘
‘What makes you think I’d want to take more than one?’
Youch.
What, indeed? He shrugged and even managed to smile at that.
Romy Winner intrigued him. He had grown up with women telling him he was the best and that they couldn’t get enough of him. He’d grown up fighting for approval as the youngest of four highly skilled, highly intelligent brothers. When he couldn’t beat Nacho as a youth he had turned to darker pursuits—in which, naturally, he had excelled—until Nacho had finally knocked some sense into him. Then Harvard had beckoned, encouraging him to stretch what Nacho referred to as the most important muscle in his body: the brain. After college he had found the ideal outlet for his energy and tirelessly competitive nature in the army.
‘There,’ Romy said, jolting him back from these musings. ‘You’re finished.’
‘I wouldn’t be too sure of that,’ he said, leaning in close to study her edited version. He noticed again how lithe and strong she was, and how easy it would be to pull her into his arms.
‘I have a deadline,’ she said, getting back to work.
‘Go right ahead.’ He settled back to watch her.
The huge press coach was closing in on her, and all the tiny hairs on the back of her neck were standing erect at the thought of Kruz just a short distance away. She could hear him breathing. She could smell his warm, sexy scent. Some very interesting clenching of her interior muscles suggested she was going to have to concentrate really hard if she was going to get any work done.
‘Could you pass me that kitbag?’ she said, without risking turning round. She needed a new memory card and didn’t want to brush past him.
Her breath hitched as their fingers touched and that touch wiped all sensible thought from her head. All she could think about now was what they had done and what they could do again.
Work!
She pulled herself back to attention with difficulty, but even as she worked she dreamed, while her body throbbed and yearned, setting up a nagging ache that distracted her.
‘Shall I put this other memory card in the pocket for you?’ Kruz suggested.
She realised then that she had clenched her hand over it. ‘Yes—thank you.’
His fingers were firm as they brushed hers again, and that set up more distracting twinges and delicious little aftershocks. Would she ever be able to live normally again?
Not if she kept remembering what Kruz had done—and so expertly.
Her mind was in turmoil. Every nerve-ending in her body felt as if it had been jangled. And all he’d done was brush her hand!
Somehow she got through to the end of the editing process and was ready to show him what she’d got. She ran through the images, giving a commentary like one stranger informing another about this work, and even while Kruz seemed genuinely interested and even impressed she felt his aloofness. Perhaps he thought she was a heartless bitch after enjoying him so fully and so vigorously. Perhaps he thought she took what she wanted when she wanted. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps they deserved each other.
So why this yearning ache inside her?
Because she wanted things she couldn’t have, Romy reasoned, bringing up a group photograph of the Acostas on the screen. They were such a tight-knit family…
‘Are you sure you want to give me all these shots?’
‘Concerned, Kruz?’ she said, staring at him wryly. ‘Don’t worry about me. I’ve kept more than enough shots back.’
‘I’d better see the ones you’re giving me again.’
‘Okay. No problem.’ She ran through them again, just for the dangerous pleasure of having Kruz lean in close. She had never felt like this before—so aware, alert and aroused. It was like being hunted by the hunter she would most like to be caught by.
‘These are excellent,’ Kruz commented. ‘I’m sure Grace can only be thrilled when she hears the reaction of people to these photographs.’
‘Thank you. I hope so,’ she said, concentrating on the screen. Grace’s wedding was the first romantic project she had worked on. Romy was better known as a scandal queen. And that was one of the more polite epithets she’d heard tossed her way.